Sweet Disposition
by giovanbronckhorst
Summary: 5 rather pointless short stories inspired by 5 songs on my iPod. Multiple characters and pairings. “Harry wasn’t sure what compelled him to do it, but he did it anyway…”


**Disclaimer:**** None of this is mine unfortunately. The Harry Potter world is property of JK Rowling and whoever else is lucky enough. The songs used are property of their rightful owners.**

**Summary:**** 5 rather pointless short stories inspired by 5 songs on my iPod. Multiple characters and pairings. "Harry wasn't sure what compelled him to do it, but he did it anyway…"**

**Centric Character(s):**** Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Sirius Black, Tom Riddle, Dean Thomas.**

**Pairing(s):**** HP/GW, RW/HG, SB/HG, **

**A/N:**** There isn't really a reason for this "story", I guess it should be called. I just got bored and thought I'd do this. A lot of my story ideas come from my songs so I thought, what the heck! Most likely, the stories won't go in chronological order, but you'll just have to deal with it. Also, in one of them, we're going with the idea Sirius isn't dead. I'd love some reviews when you've read it- they make my day!**

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**~ Sweet Disposition by The Temper Trap.**

_Sweet disposition..._

_A moment…_

_A dream…_

_A laugh… _

_A kiss…_

_A cry…_

_Our rights…_

_Our wrongs…_

Harry wasn't sure what compelled him to do it, but he did it nonetheless. Perhaps he just had a disposition to gamble. That _must _ have been it. For as long as he could remember (meaning before the time he received so many knocks on the head from curses and spells that he couldn't remember his own name let alone where he was) Harry had wanted to be rich enough to blow a load of money in one night and not regret it at all in the morning.

Once he was aware of his account at Gringotts and the small fortune housed in it, Harry had been planning for the day he would take off and spend as much money as possible, just because he could.

Over the years, a few things got in the way (the usual saving-the-wizarding-world-from-Voldemort-time-and-time-again jive) but now, as a happily married father and Auror, he had just the opportunity.

"Hey Ron," he had started over the breakfast table at Grimmauld Place where the Order of the Phoenix continued to meet, regardless of there being no kind of imminent threat to worry over.

"Hm?" Ron quizzed, his mouth full of his mother's pancakes. Even as a 26 year old, Ron still near on lived on his mother's cooking, despite being married with a child on the way _very _soon.

Hermione and Ginny had disappeared off somewhere that morning, presumably to buy _more _things for their impending children (officially named Albus Potter and Rose Weasley) leaving their husbands to do as they pleased for the day.

"Fancy going out today?"

"Alright. Where?"

Harry was quiet for a moment, thinking of a way to phrase it without alarming Ron too much.

"Las Vegas," he replied, giving up on the tactful approach and going for the blunt option. Ron arched an eyebrow.

"You joking, mate?"

"No. Do you wanna come to Vegas or not?"

A devious grin spread across Ron's features before he nodded. "Alright. But what about Gin and Hermione?"

"Well, we'll only be gone for the weekend. I'm sure they'll be alright. Think of it as you're unofficial dad party. You need one last gallivanting experience before you settle down as a father," Harry reasoned.

Ron set his knife and fork down. "Let's go," he agreed.

Harry grabbed the computer that Hermione had insisted both families buy to add convenience to their lives (although Harry, Ginny and Ron never quite saw the necessity for the device) and really used it for the first time. Hitting up the _Virgin Atlantic _website, Harry booked two return flights from London Gatwick to Las Vegas International, preferring to have a relaxing flight over the ocean rather than having to fly themselves.

"Mum!" Ron yelled through Grimmauld Place, not wanting to actually face his mother.

"Yes Ron?" she yelled back from somewhere upstairs.

"We're going to Vegas, alright? See ya Monday!"

The two men heard Molly's laugh echo around the house, assuming they were joking. Before she could emerge from whichever bedroom she was in, the two had Disapparated, and arrived at Gatwick. "Aren't we going to need stuff?" Ron asked.

"We'll buy it while we're there," Harry insisted, pulling out a card that greatly resembled a Muggle credit card, issued from Gringotts. Another large grin spread across Ron's face.

"Let's go!"

The weekend in Vegas was the best of Harry's life and Ron seemed to significantly enjoy spending his friend's money. The youngest Weasley son, however, seemed a little worried. "Are you sure this is really a good idea, Harry?"

"One life, Ron. Let's live it."

Upon their return to British soil, Harry and Ron's lives took a sharp turn when they encountered the greatest peril of their lives. Forget Voldemort and Death Eaters. Two heavily pregnant, pissed off wives are not ones to be messed with…

*****

**~Bad Boys by Alexandra Burke.**

_I know I'm playing with fire _

_But I don't know why_

_Yeah the bad boys _

_Are always catching my eye_

_Oh-wey, oh-why_

_I said the bad boys _

_Are always spinning my mind_

_Oh-wey, oh-why_

_Even though I know they're no good for me_

_It's the risk that I take for the chemistry…_

Hermione's smile spread as she filled another glass with firewhisky and vodka in her own corner of the Leaky Cauldron. She found that the two drinks mixed gave a rather unique taste and she had become rather partial to it. As she loaded herself up on the booze, she noticed a male form leaning against the bar, a soft smile playing on his features.

She watched with interest, not sure if it was him attracting her, or the alcohol addling her mind. Still, she watched nonetheless. He made casual jokes with Tom the barman, before swallowing his own bottle of firewhisky in a few gulps.

Many a time had Hermione seen him with his woman on the night (or of the night and next day if she was lucky) then had witnessed his policy of "love em and leave em". It was harsh, but no one could deny that it worked to its purpose.

Despite this, Hermione had had an eye for him for a fair while. Of course, he was completely of limits. And what was the sense in involving herself with a bad boy player like Sirius Black?

Filling another glass with the mixture, she concentrated on drinking herself in oblivion rather than the man being his usual sinfully gorgeous self at the bar.

Over at said bar, Sirius was watching the brunette witch. He knew it was terrible, and bordering on perversion, but his little fella reacted very favourably to her. Aged 22, it had nearly been a decade since he had met her. In that time, she had blossomed into a beautiful young lady who had tickled his fancy.

For nearly two years Sirius had told himself, _no, she's far too young. She's your godson's best friend._ Of course, the little angel on his shoulder was beaten up and buried by the devil on the other. _Look at her… She gorgeous! Can you imagine what _she'd _be like in the sack?_

Downing yet another bottle of firewhisky, the liquid courage overcame Sirius. Never had he been a shy man, but he would never have dared to go near her without a little push from his favourite booze.

Sirius wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slammed the empty bottle down on the bar in front of Tom. "Another, Mr. Black?"

"No, thanks, Tom. I've gotta do something."

Sirius strode confidently from the bar towards the table where Hermione sat alone. As he approached, she stood as well and turned, facing him. Both stopped for a moment. Neither spoke. Without any warning to the other, both of them seemed to have the same thought. Lips crashed onto lips.

*****

**~Have a Little Priest from the Sweeney Todd: Demon Barber of Fleet Street Soundtrack.**

_It's priest, have a little priest…_

_Haven't you got poet or something like that?_

_The trouble with poet is how do you know it's deceased?_

_Try the priest…_

_Is that squire on the fire?_

_Mercy no sir, look closer, you'll notice it's grocer…_

Tom had never really had any time for 'art', if it could be called that. Poetry… Eugh! There had been a couple of students at Hogwarts who had fancied themselves as poets. What was the point of being a poet when you were a wizard? Tom had often wondered.

When he had 'evolved' into the all powerful Voldemort, he still had a sore spot for poet. He wasn't sure what it was about them that bugged him so much, but he really couldn't stand them. One hint of the P word in his presence and you were as good as dead.

On the morning of June 17th 1980, Tom had woken in a bad mood. Some crackpot 'seer' had predicted his downfall at the hands of a baby, and he had had dreams about the dreaded… poems. Even _thinking _about the word was hard enough. Some little man had sat upon a rock, reciting love poems to his lover opposite him, who bared a scary resemblance to Tom himself. Needless to say, Tom was on the warpath.

His wand held firmly in his hand, he hadn't spared a thought for the lives taken that day. There were at least seven of them as he stalked through a village that he didn't even know the name of. Finally, he came across one man at the end of a lane.

"Sectumsempra!" he yelled, not having been satisfied by the other victims' quick and painless deaths. Sectumsempra was a rather clever spell he had learnt from Snape.

The man wailed out in pain as a large gash spread the length of his cheek. In a bizarre display, his arms flailed above his head and he collapsed dramatically to the floor.

"D is for the death that is surely coming," he spoke in a seemingly magnified voice. "E is for everything I shall miss in life. A is for another life ended tragically. T is for the terror that is playing in my eyes. H is for the horror my family shall feel!" he finished with a strangled sob. [1]

During the recital of his acrostic poem, Tom's eyes had flashed dangerously… a _poet._

"DIE!"

*****

**~Last Summer by The LostProphets.**

_The Friday sun bears down again_

_As we drive with our friends_

_And on these longest days we spent_

_All our time trying to pretend…_

_If only we knew_

_And we all sit round you_

_In our home town…_

_By my side _

_In my summer_

_Our last summer…_

Harry, Ron and Hermione tried to make the most of the time they spent together at the Burrow during the summer after sixth year. None of them said it, but they were all thinking the same thing: it could be their last.

The plan to hunt for Horcruxes wasn't one made lightly. It was a dangerous task for the most powerful wizard (Dumbledore proved that) let alone three seventeen year olds.

Harry watched the sun set every evening, wondering if perhaps one of these days, he wouldn't see it rise again. Oddly, the thought didn't scare him. In a way, he was anticipating the day he died, so that he could be with his parents and Sirius again.

On the other hand, he feared for Ron and Hermione. He had tried to argue that this wasn't their fight; he should do it alone. Of course, they wouldn't hear of it and insisted on accompanying their best friend on his quest. Harry appreciated their company more than he could ever tell them, but continued to try and protect them from the perils that lay ahead.

"Harry?"

He turned around from his place at the window in Ron's bedroom to see Hermione leaning casually against the doorway. "Mrs. Weasley said dinner's ready."

Harry nodded and stood up, stretching his legs that had begun to fall victim to pins and needles. "Alright. I'll be there in a minute."

Hermione smiled softly and made her way back down the staircase to the kitchen. Harry had taken one last glance out of the window towards the setting sun and smiled himself.

He went down to dinner, where the Weasley family and Hermione greeted him with warm smiles. The smell of the food rested in his nostrils and drew him closer to the table where he sat down next to Ron and Fred.

"You wanna come out with me, Fred, George and Ginny tomorrow to play Quidditch?" Ron offered. "Hermione's going to come and watch too," he added.

Harry's eyes were again drawn to the nearly gone sun and he nodded earnestly. The end of August was drawing closer along with Bill and Fleur's wedding. Soon after that, the hunt would be on.

"Sure," Harry agreed. Who knew how many more Quidditch matches he would be able to participate in?

*****

**~Heyo Captain Jack by Captain Jack**

_Heyo Captain Jack! _

_Bring me back to the railroad track!_

_Run on to the railroad track_

_Run along with Captain Jack_

_Run into the peace camp back_

_Run along with Captain Jack_

The entire Gryffindor common room groaned as they heard another rendition of the song that had haunted them since the beginning of term courtesy of Dean Thomas. The Muggle-born wizard had returned from his summer holidays with a new song that he was addicted to: Heyo Captain Jack.

At first, it was a little catchy. However, after the seventy-second yelling of, "Heyo Captain Jack!" followed by a jig of some kind, it had lost the appeal.

"Can't he shut up?" Ron hissed over to Harry as they relaxed in the common room, trying to complete the DADA homework that Snape had set them. Regardless of how long they spent on it, the pile never seemed to get any smaller.

Dean bounced happily around his fellow Gryffindors, not noticing the daggers in their eyes. He stopped rather dramatically in front of Harry and exclaimed, "Jack!"

Harry looked up at him while Ron raised his eyebrows.

"Dean, mate, you alright?" Ron asked.

"I'm _Harry_, remember?" 'Jack' prompted.

"I know," Dean agreed, nodding his head vigorously. "But, seeing as you're the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, I decided I'm going to call you Jack. Get it? Captain Jack?"

Harry groaned inwardly. "Yeah, Dean, I get it."

"Great, so you don't mind, right?"

"Well actually-"

"Fantastic!" he interrupted, bouncing his way up the steps to the boy's dormitory. Ron turned to look at Harry, who shrugged. "Don't ask me, mate," he stated before closing his DADA textbook. "I'm going to finish this tomorrow. I'm going to bed. See you later, yeah?"

"Yeah," Ron agreed, catching Lavender's eye as she sat in the corner by the window. Harry rolled his eyes before venturing up to bed.

For another week and a half, Harry was forced to answer to Jack whenever Dean was involved. It didn't make his life easy.

Finally, five weeks in to term and seven hundred and ninety-four "Heyo Captain Jacks" later, all the Gryffindors snapped. As Dean opened his mouth with the tell tale grin on his face, the all turned to face him.

"SHUT UP!"

"What?" he asked innocently. "I was just going to say- _I know a song that'll get on your nerves! Get on your nerves!" _

*****

[1] I know, my poetry sucks.

**A/N:**** Like I said- I'd love reviews. My main question is- which was your favorite? **


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